Throne of Honour
by Quatervois
Summary: "Those who rule are always monsters." Morrigan Reed was thrown into a world much bigger than herself the moment she stepped outside the boundaries of Greywater Watch. Despite her willingness to be kind, a darkness streams through her veins, and she must decide whether her tale be one of good or evil.
1. Greywater Watch

Hi! Thanks for choosing this story. I hope you enjoy it, because I'm super excited to write it. Throne of Honour will start in Season 1 and hopefully stretch through to Season 8. Just a heads up, there will be quite a lot of side plot later on and this will draw from the BBC series Merlin, making this story a very loose Merlin x GoT crossover. My OC is also a Reed because they are such an underrated house that I would love to explore more, and I haven't really read any fanfics with a Reed as a main character.

Sorrrryyy, to any die-hard fans because I've only just started reading the books. This story will primarily follow the HBO TV series. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of George R.R. Martin's or HBO's works.

* * *

— CHAPTER ONE —  
Greywater Watch

**JOJEN**

It was storming again.

An occurrence that had become overly familiar to the stone walls and murky swamps of Greywater Watch. For weeks now, the marshlands had been haunted by dreary weather. At least more so than usual. Being situated on the southern side of the Neck, Jojen didn't suppose his family saw much warmth. He certainly hadn't in his fourteen years of life. No, snow and rain and most of all, fog, was the only climate this far north. Unfortunately for him, storms had a way of increasing his daily amount of seizures.

Greensight was a gift, he knew that, but it had its fair share of burdens. Having frequent seizures every time he was absorbed into a vision was one of them. When he reached the age of eight and experienced his first fit, the incident had left his cheeks flushed for days afterwards. However, Jojen soon discovered that being a greenseer was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was an ability many people would kill to obtain. This fact being a prominent reason for keeping his greensight secret, for who knew what King Robert would do if he found out.

Therefore as the sky darkened and thunder reverberated through the cold corridors of the castle, it came as no surprise to Jojen when he began to convulse and felt his legs give way from underneath him. He vaguely heard the hurried footsteps of Septa Orrells trying to catch him before he slumped onto the hard floor, but due to the throbbing pain in his right arm, he guessed she didn't reach him in time.

Black smog clouded his vision, and the world he knew started to fade.

_A chamber; vast and decorated in velvet. There was a portrait on the wall — a man battling a golden lion. On a desk lay an array of papers and books. Perhaps it was a study, as large and lavish as it was. Either way, it was clearly in the South. Sunlight, yellow and almost tangible, flooded through the open windows, accompanied by a light summer breeze. The door was flung open and two men entered._

_They were both dressed accordingly in tuscan robes, a telling sign that they were rich, if the chamber was not proof enough. The one man, older, had visibly greying hair, but the other, barely more than a boy, had a long golden mane of yellow starlight. _

_Lannisters._

_"Father, surely there is another way to secure an alliance with the North," said the younger one, his lips curled into something sour. The boy's voice hadn't yet broken and still resembled that of a demanding child._

_"The Reeds are one of the most powerful families north of the Riverlands, with a considerable military strength at their belt. With the king laying a claim to the Starks, it is strategically appropriate for the Lannisters to have alliances there, too."_

_"I just don't see why I have to give up my dream of knighthood to marry some insolent marsh girl."_

_The older Lannister frowned. "You could be a lord, Lancel. Surely that gives you some amount of pride, however small."_

_The boy, Lancel, didn't look convinced. His features remained set in a scowl, and it was obvious he cared not for wealth and banquets, but rather the exhiliration of having a sword firmly gripped in his hand._

_"If I do marry the girl, she'd come to Casterly Rock, would she not? And your brother is the lord here. All I would get is paperwork and a stubborn northern wench." His father sent him a warning look, but Lancel continued anyway. "And even if by some stretch, I did become lord, that still sounds awfully dull. I should be squiring for the king, not slouching at a desk and watching my servants polish silverware."_

_"That's enough." The old man left his son's side to settle at his table and dip a feather into the fresh pot of ink. "You are to marry the Reed girl and that is final."_

_Lancel screwed up his face even more, if that was possible. "What are you doing?"_

_His father ignored him, beginning to scrawl in loopy handwriting onto a piece of parchment. His lips formed unspoken words as his weathered fingers gripped the feather tightly, forcing it to work to his command. Lancel watched him in bewilderment, trying to identify what it was the old man was scribbling down so swiftly and determined. It came to no avail, and the boy resulted in simply slumping on the chair next to him until his father was finished._

_It was only when the shadows grew long and the light breeze became a still coolness that the old man finally melted scarlet wax and imprinted the Lannister sigil — a roaring lion — to seal the parchment. Lancel, who had begun to feel drowsy, snapped to attention as his father beckoned a servant to attach the message to a raven and send it to the Neck._

_"What? The Neck?" Lancel got to his feet and faced his father in a way that might've been intimidating if it weren't for his youth and size. "So you're really going through with it then? You're going to condemn me to a life of boredem when ever since I was little I craved adventure?"_

_"Being a knight isn't adventure, son. It's hours of standing outside doors and listening as the king fucks his whores. You're better off at Casterly Rock away from all the poison in the capital. On any account, I've heard rumours that Howland's eldest is far from the scum that is found in House Frey. Perhaps you'll learn to enjoy her company."_

_"I don't care if she's the fairest maiden in all seven kingdoms, I still won't want to wed her. I was meant to be a knight, just like you," said Lancel firmly. "Why can't Martyn be the one to unite our two houses?"_

_His father's features creased in disappointment. "You are my first-born and true heir. It is your duty, to your family and your house, to cast all aspirations aside and do what's right by them."_

_"What about what's right by me?"_

_"That no longer matters. The Reed girl will be your wife and that will be the end of it."_

_Lancel's hope withered along with his dreams. Even his golden locks seemed to dull. The youth in the boy's eyes drowned and his face grew stoic._

_"You're making a grave mistake, father. There's a reason the North and the South are divided. Uniting them will only bring chaos."_

Jojen blinked and the vision melted out of existence.

* * *

**MORRIGAN**

The ringing of cutlery against porcelain echoed through the dinner hall. A clanging orchestra of knives and forks grating together as they were plunged through the crisp skin of roast pork. These, however, were household sounds for the Reed family, where matters of dining could never truly be called a quiet affair. If it wasn't her father's booming laughter or Meera's prolonged retelling of that day's hunt, it would be Cook Ainsley rushing in, flustered, reluctantly admitting she'd burnt the potatoes again. Morrigan knew if it was any other lord the cook served, she would've been cast out into the marshes long ago, but this was Lord Howland's house, and the Neck wasn't somewhere that was renowned for their meals.

Instead their talents lay in hunting and swordsmanship. Skills Morrigan had no desire in learning, despite her father's encouragements. In the South, a lord prompting his daughter into swordsplay would be unheard of and less than appropriate, though here in the North there were dangers many could barely dream of imagining, and even women needed to know their share of defensive strategy. Meera had readily taken up that duty, while Morrigan and Jojen preferred to watch at a safe distance. At least Jyana Reed held a more Southern approach to her daughters encountering such violence and had looked more than relieved when Morrigan had politely declined her father's advances. On the other hand, so did Jojen, who was not only male, but also _heir_ to Greywater Watch. A rather sensitive issue to both her father and brother, and one that Morrigan had no business in picking sides in.

The castle's library was where Morrigan would find herself when those arguments — albeit rather one-sided on her father's part — broke out. Reading was a pastime that bored two of the three Reed children to no ends. While Meera always favoured being outdoors and training in the morning bog and Jojen already knew too much of the past to fancy more of it, Morrigan would bury herself under pages of huge, dusty volumes that no one had ever bothered touching. There were no septons in the Watch, leaving the library all to herself. It gave her more pleasure than what was considered normal to immerse herself into the least cobwebbed corner of the library and suffer through the dim lighting to read about not only Westerosi legends but Essosi stories, too. There was something about history that enthralled her in a way not much in the Neck could. A part of her longed to travel the Jade Sea, and visit the Targaryen's ancestoral seat of Dragonstone, yet another part was grateful she had never witnessed the horrors of any rebellions or wars. The Neck might be dull, but it was safe and secluded from the rest of the world's deadly politics.

At least that was what she thought before her father decided to break the news that Kevan Lannister had offered a betrothal between her and his son, Lancel. Being freshly turned seventeen, Morrigan wasn't ignorant enough to realize that her duty as first-born daughter wasn't soon going to be required, but she had hoped to remain in the oblivion of her youth a little longer. It was Jojen who had first found out; through a vision on a stormy night not a week ago. Against her hopes, a raven had followed, legitimising the proposal.

King's Landing.

That was to be her new home, at least until the wedding where afterwards they would then move back to Casterly Rock — the lion's den. Not only the established house of Westeros' richest family, but also the South_. _If the scorching humidity and utter change in landscape wasn't enough to send her into insanity, then the poisonous struggle for power that Morrigan had read about, surely would.

"It won't be so bad."

Jojen was looking at her in the way he always did when he sensed she was upset. A young boy wise beyond his years. There was already so much resting upon his shoulders; Morrigan hated to add more. But he was her brother and she knew he would understand.

"You saw him," she said. "Did he seem kind?"

Jojen hesitated and that was all the answer she needed. If it were any other family, Morrigan knew that her father would refuse. He cared for her, and had declined many men who hadn't proved themselves worthy of his eldest daughter's hand. But these weren't some fellow vassal house in the North. These were the Lannisters. Refusing them would be garnered as an insult to their pride. Her father didn't have a choice, and she would much rather marry an arrogant boy than have her family at odds with the most powerful house in Westeros. Everyone had their duty; it was time for Morrigan to do hers.

"If its any consolation, he didn't seem cruel," her brother offered.

Morrigan pierced her fork into a slab of meat but did not eat. "I suppose it hardly matters now. At least you know I'll be well looked after, with all their supposed gold mines. I won't need to worry about winter or resources, instead only if the sheets match the drapes. Although, even that will be taken care of, won't it?"

Jojen frowned. "You don't have to leave, you know. The Neck is your home — it always will be — but your family still needs you. With mother being unwell, someone needs to take over as Lady of the Greywater. We both know managing an estate doesn't lie within Meera's skill set. Father needs you here, and so does she."

Jyana Reed's illness was a sensitive subject and had been ever since the consumption had consumed her lungs. Morrigan still remembered the white embroided handkerchief splattered with scarlet stains. The horror that had plunged through her heart. Even months later, the feeling had never gone away. For her mother still lay in bed, pale as the Northern snow and thin as the marsh weeds. Morrigan hated to abandon her, especially since (despite the words being unspoken) everyone knew she had little time left in this world.

Morrigan refused to admit it, for admitting it made it true, but what else could they do for her? Consumption had no cure, at least none Septa Orrells knew of. Perhaps Jojen was right, and her presence was most needed here, so she could treat her mother in whatever ways she could and take on the responsibility of being Lady of Greywater Watch.

"What about you?" She searched her brother's face, willing him to give her another reason to stay. "Do you need me?"

He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're siblings, Mor. You, me, and Meera. We'll always need each other."

"Then you think I should stay?"

"I think you should do what's right for our family, and yes, that might be to stay."

"But they're the Lannisters, Jo. Their word is law. It would be foolish to deny their request. It would bring more trouble to our house than my absence."

"Then leave," he said, not unkindly. "It seems you have thought things through well enough."

Morrigan shook her head. "Why must you always confuse me? Lead me one way, then change direction without warning. I thought you wanted me to stay. Why are you now telling me to go?"

"I want you to think about what you're doing, that's all. To look at every possibility, and then decide which path to follow."

Morrigan suppressed a sigh. With his gift of greensight, her younger brother by three years had always seemed decades older. Septa Orrells used to call him "Little Grandfather" until Morrigan deemed he had far too much of a baby face to be classified as elderly.

"I _am_ thinking, though I'm not sure how much sway I hold in this whole ordeal."

"More than you might guess," said Jojen, his features annoyingly placid. "If you truly do not want to leave, father will not force you."

Morrigan looked over at the lord, the corners of his mouth lifted into a grin as Meera chomped on her vegetables like a wildling. Despite his fondness over his daughter's antics, his eyes remained dull. They used to glow with a warmth quite unfamiliar to the North, like burning embers lighting up a drafty hall, but ever since mother fell into an indefinite bed rest, that hearth had quickly died. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced, too, more deep and telling of the burdensome worries he was frequently acquiring.

"Perhaps that's why it's better to go," Morrigan admitted softly. "If I asked father to stay, he'd let me, and as a result we'd have insulted the Lannisters and lost their support and only the Gods know what other dreadful consequences might follow."

Jojen watched her, sceptical, and she knew he was rummaging his mind for an appropriate response. "You would be acting Lady of the Neck. You would support father by offering your insights and be helping mother while you still can—"

"By doing what?" she interrupted. "What could mother possibly get from me, that she hasn't already? The South is more advanced medically than the North. If we're lucky, I could plead to Ser Kevan for the best healer gold can buy. As a wedding present. That way I could aid mother far better than I ever could from here."

"It seems you have decided then."

"But what of you, Jo? Will I be allowed to see you again?"

"Who knows what the Old Gods will allow. I have not seen our encounters in the future, but we're family. We'll always be connected somehow."

Morrigan glanced around the dinner hall. Candlelight danced against the shadows, glowing upon the few members of her house. Each weren't paying attention to to her and Jojen's conversatsion, too absorbed in their meal to notice, though she did catch her father's gaze flickering up to the staircase that led to his wife's bed chambers. He missed her presence; they all did. In a few months, their heads might instead turn to the South, where the ghost of her being would wander. For Morrigan knew now what she was required to do.

The Neck was where she belonged, but she could not refuse the South's call.

* * *

**JYANA**

It was said that Greywater Watch moved.

And while the marshlands that surrounded it were near impossible to survive for anyone but a Reed, the castle had stood on the border of the Riverlands for centuries, and would do for centuries more to come. It was home to swamp monsters and crannogmen, but also to her beloved children and husband. The Watch would not feel the same without the warmth of Morrigan Reed. Her first-born was a blessing she'd thought she would never experience. Being thought of as infertile for many years, Jyana saw Morrigan's arrival as an unexpected favour from the gods. She'd never expected to hold a babe in her arms, not to mention one as sweet as Morrigan. If Jojen was the sight of the castle and Meera was the strength, Morrigan was the heart.

Jyana liked to think her daughter had obtained her kind nature from herself, but Morrigan was selfless in a way that she couldn't dream of being. It quite often worried her. Westeros was a cruel and twisted place, not designed for the pure and innocent. She had experienced its darkness first-hand when she lived in the Reach. Even miles from King's Landing, the throne's poison leaked into the gardens of Bitterbridge. Politics and death was the language of the capital, and now her lovely daughter was to travel there to wed a Lannister.

She had never met the infamous golden lions but their reputation preceded them. Although Robert Baratheon may be the king, it was Tywin Lannister who controlled the seven kingdoms. Money was power and the Lord of Casterly Rock had no shortage of either.

Ravens weren't supposed to be able to find Greywater Watch. Their keen eyes were no match for the thick fog that never abandoned the castle, save for the winter snows. No bird was to perch on its stone turrets unless its lord allowed it, and yet a scroll that happened to bring such unbidden change was to be one of the few that reached the Watch's ears.

Jyana was no fool; she knew the time would come for her daughter to wed and strengthen the bonds between houses, but she had never intended it to be with the South, much less the Lannisters. If it weren't for Lord Tywin's influence, she wouldn't have considered sending Morrigan to such a place. But diplomacy was never a simple matter.

At least Morrigan wouldn't be staying in King's Landing for long. It was just until the wedding, and then she would be relocated to Casterly Rock. Not exactly a welcoming place, though leagues better than the capital.

Still, Jyana worried.

She was too weak to ever think of visiting her daughter, and so for all she knew, her days with her eldest were quickly ending. Morrigan had always been a gentle spirit. Even as a child, Jyana remembered her heart was flowing with forgiveness. Once a little boy had yanked her hair as she walked through the small settlement with Septa Orrells. Morrigan had merely frowned, then asked for his name. Against Septa Orrell's discouragements, she had befriended the boy and the pair had played for many years until he unexpectedly passed from dysentery.

Gestures like this was what consumed Jyana's thoughts as she lay wearily in bed. The South would take advantage of her forgiveness — her willingness to understand people, no matter how awful. Fortunately, the Watch hadn't been exploited with evil men, but despite this, there was still a handful of thieves and drunkards that Morrigan wouldn't shy away from or scowl at like her more opinionated sister.

Meera was a different kind of blessing. She was a protector through and through. But despite all her gifts, she was as far from a lady as Howland was. Yet when Morrigan left, she would need to gather those responsibilities and push her aspirations of being a hunter to the side. Jyana knew she'd fight with her on the issue, and somehow that only made her love for her second eldest grow. Everyone else would treat Jyana like she was a fragile vase; so breakable and weak, but Meera treated her like she always had. With resistance and resolution.

Only Jojen could keep her in check. And Jojen, even with all his wisdom and maturity, still needed his eldest sister. The Reeds all relied on each other, and with Morrigan leaving, their chain would snap.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Jyana watched as the smoke curled out of the candle on her bedside table. The smell of ash singed her nostrils, and the metallic taste of blood rose in her throat. She hurled onto the sheets.

Scarlet stained white.


	2. A Promise Sworn

Here you go, another update! I'm trying to **UPDATE** **WEEKLY** and so far that's proving to be working. Honestly I'm so excited for this story and have been doing sooo much planning. This chapter is quite important for Morrigan's character, so enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of George R.R. Martin's or HBO's works.

* * *

— CHAPTER TWO —  
A Promise Sworn

**MORRIGAN**

Despite being their most loyal vassal house, Morrigan had never met the Starks.

Their lord, Eddard of Winterfell, was supposedly her father's greatest friend and ally but never once had he come to visit the marshlands of the Watch. The last time the two had seen each other was at the end of Robert's Rebellion. Her father and Lord Eddard had travelled to the Tower of Joy to rescue Lyanna Stark from Rhaegar Targaryen. The Lord of Greywater didn't much speak of those days. The ones where passion begun wars and fields were stained red. Morrigan had given up asking about it when he had refused to give her any more information than her books.

But also because there was a deep pain in his eyes whenever the Rebellion was spoken of. War did that to people — changed them. Morrigan often wondered what her father had been like before disaster had broken into their country. She imagined him not being unlike Meera. Wild as the marshes and stubborn to a fault. That person still lingered inside him; Morrigan had seen it from time to time when the sky was clear and his wife was well. But alas the burden of lordship had taken its toll and now all her father had left was the Northern gloom. He tried to put on an act when he was around his children, but Morrigan, and she suspected Meera and Jojen too, could easily see through it.

She wondered whether she would have to fake such a facade when she became a lady of Casterly Rock. Lord, she might even soon have children of her own to use it on.

The thought frightened her.

Morrigan didn't feel ready to be a wife, let alone a mother. She was still a child at heart, and growing up in the isolation of Greywater Watch didn't give her a lot of experience in dealings with the outer world. It was a cruel place, that much was reiterated. But its laws and etiquette might have well have been Valyrian with her understanding of it. The Watch didn't even have septons, for goodness sake. How was she supposed to speak to kings and queens and the most important people in Westeros without utter humiliation?

Perhaps that was a reason why her father was sending her further North, to Winterfell, to meet the king's house in an environment that was slightly more familiar. Rumour had it that King Robert was to ask Lord Stark to be his Hand, since the previous one had recently died. This meant that Eddard was to be heading South, and she was to go with him. Even so, Morrigan's nerves were on edge. Meeting royalty in any environment was sure to be stressful. And to further add to her worries, her father wasn't even to be accompanying her.

With her mother being sick and the Watch lacking any other capable hands, her father was forced to stay and deem her travelling companions as Merek Bryne, his best hunter, and Alfered Sawler, a trusted swordsman. Morrigan had known both men all her life and so, despite being disheartened that her father would not be coming, she felt safe, at least, with who she had.

They were to travel by the marshes for as long as possible before following the King's Road until Winterfell. This was the most sheltered route and would get her to the house of Stark roughly a week before the king did.

Morrigan was to leave in two days, and had spent most of her remaining time in the godswood. She had never been very strong in her beliefs, but the place had always provided her with peace of mind — somewhere to lie her burdens and return to the castle renewed. Because her mother came from the Reach, her praise was delivered to the Faith of the Seven, but her father, a northman through and through, raised his children to worship the Old Gods of the Forest.

Morrigan had personally come to pray to neither. But either way, a godswood buried by swamps and marshes was bound to be different to any other. It was small and, like all places in the Watch, stunk of mud and soggy peat. There was a single weirwood rooted in the bog at the edge of the settlement, its bark as pale as snow and leaves as red as any southern sunset. Etched into the trunk was a long, sad face with eyes of dried sap.

Jojen said that the weirwood trees held a power as strong as fire. Like father and courtesy of his greensight, he was a follower of the old gods and often spoke of their history to her. It was interesting, but nothing she'd place her life on.

Still, it was under its crimson branches that Morrigan knelt as the day broke and a faint yellow shone through the heavy fog.

She didn't know exactly what she was hoping for. Perhaps for a sign that she was doing the right thing. With all her time spent in their presence, Morrigan half-expected to have earned the old god's blessing. Maybe return to the Watch to see her mother standing with flushed cheeks to greet her. But as Jojen explained, that was not how things worked.

By this point, she might as well have only come to pretend. To pretend that some greater beings were looking out for her and that she wouldn't be alone in the chaos of the South.

Perhaps her facade had started earlier than she'd thought.

* * *

Morrigan had never needed to say goodbye to anyone in her family before, and now, suddenly, she had to say it to all of them.

Dawn's golden glow had melted through the morning fog, revealing three horses all stacked with saddlebags for the long ride. Most crannogmen were hopeless riders, and Morrigan was no different. She had ridden a horse only once before and could barely stay on top of it. There was never any need for riding at the Watch; walking easily got one most places in the town and not often did people who arrived in the marshes leave it.

Yet leaving it Morrigan would soon be.

The entire Reed household had come to the castle gates to bid their farewells. All except her mother. Morrigan had visited her bed chambers earlier. Her fingers had been hesitant as she pushed open the door, scared that this might be the last time she ever did so. Her worries did not disappear when her mother's frail form lay before her. Once with hair as gold as a Lannisters' and eyes kindred to that of sapphires, now she only resembled a winter rose dying in a snowstorm.

And dying, she was.

Not even Morrigan could dispute that as she looked at her now. She fought the tears that clouded her vision and sat at the end of the bed. Her mother reached for her hand and she grasped it willingly. They were burning, courtesy of the fever, but Morrigan took comfort in their warmth. Dead things were cold. As long as her mother's flesh radiated heat, she was alive.

"My dear girl," her mother smiled. "I will miss you so much."

"I'll miss you, too. Of course I will. I don't know how I'll survive in this world without my mother."

"You will go on like you always have. You're a woman now, soon to be married. You don't need me anymore."

Morrigan's lip quivered. "I'll send you the greatest healers and septons Ser Kevan can afford, alright? They'll do everything they can to save you, I promise."

Her mother squeezed her hand, at least Morrigan supposed she tried to. "I am past the point of saving, my love, and I think you know that. You must be strong, Mor. The South will use your every weakness against you. There are people there who will do anything for power, even if its at the cost of a young woman like you. Their weapons are not swords, but words. Be careful they don't twist yours."

"I'm scared, mother."

Morrigan had been reading the history of Westeros all her life, and whenever the North and South crossed, people died. She was meant to be with a Mormont of Bear Island or even a Karstark of Karhold, but instead she would be with a Lannister. The thought both frightened and disgusted her. She was of the North, and now southern blood would taint her veins.

"I know," said her mother. "I was nervous when I heard of my betrothal to your father, too. But unlike most arrangements, we worked. We fell in love. I can only hope as much will be the same for you. However, you must always be on your guard. You must not let your feelings cloud your judgement. That has been the downfall of many northmen."

"What about the Starks? Have you ever met them?"

Her mother's head turned to the window; the land was still swamped in darkness but above a flicker of sunlight appeared. "Once."

Morrigan waited but her mother didn't continue.

"Once?"

"Morrigan," her mother began, turning back towards her. "You must know that whatever happens in the South, whatever you do, I will always love you."

She nodded, but did not quite understand. What was her mother insinuating? Morrigan had never craved power; it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth. All she wanted was to make it to Casterly Rock in one piece and try live out the rest of her days in peace. It was her very last wish to get caught up in the struggle of politics. She barely even understood it, despite her studying of the issue.

"I don't want to leave you, mother." Her voice cracked. This wasn't the same as the rest of her family. At least with them, there was a chance of another encounter, but Morrigan was not a fool, she knew this would be the last time she spoke to her mother.

She gave a sad smile. "You will be okay. The wheel of life must spin on. Perhaps when you follow me, we'll meet again. But for now, farewell, my dear."

Morrigan leaned over with stifled tears and planted a kiss on her temple.

"Goodbye, mother."

One farewell had been toil enough, and yet she still had to make several more.

It was her father who had first enveloped her at the gate. No words needed to be spoken, for both already knew what would've been said. His arms, though suffocating, were a comfort Morrigan only wished to hang onto forever. She felt a like a little girl again, at the mere age of seven when she'd finally finished reading her first full-length novel. Morrigan could feel it still, the pride that threatened to burst from her chest as she raced down the castle's stairs and into her father's study. Perhaps it would've been more appropriate to tell her mother of such feats, but no one had quite supported her like her father. It was to him she went with her successes, and he would respond in a way similar to that of now. With his body wrapped firmly around her own.

Morrigan ignored the nagging voice that warned that this might be the last time he ever did so.

Next was her brother.

Jojen placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she smiled, or at least tried to. This wouldn't be the last time they'd see each other, of that she was sure. Like he said, they were connected, and not even the Lannisters could stop her from finding her siblings once again.

"Stay strong, Mor," he said with determination. "Don't forget where you come from."

"I won't," she whispered and didn't say anything more for fear of crying. For once, Morrigan needed to be the mature one — to be brave for the sake of her family.

She turned to face her sister. Despite all Meera's likeness to their father, it was their mother's eyes that stared back at her. Pools of deep emerald flecked with blue. They were more beautiful than any jewels in Tarth and she prayed that their light would never fade. Morrigan took her sister into her embrace and grazed her lips upon her pale cheek. Traditionally, Meera would grimace and try swat her away, but this time she stayed without struggle. Morrigan fought back another sob and, even in all her sister's sobriety, she could feel her doing the same.

When they pulled away, Morrigan could hear the horses whinnying with impatience. She sighed as Alfered Sawler arrived at her side, silently prompting that it was time to leave.

Her father stepped forward and held onto her like it was his last. Perhaps that was true. "You're not alone, Mor. I'll always be with you, if not in body, then in spirit. I swear it. By ice and fire."

And with her house words echoing in her ears, Morrigan finally had the strength to let go.

* * *

**NED**

Ned had never expected to see another Reed in his life before he died.

It was verging on two decades since he had last laid eyes upon his loyal friend, Howland Reed, and with him being Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, there was very little time spare for excursions. Not to mention he had a family of his own to care for. Seven children, including his ward and bastard. Still a far stretch from overtaking the Freys, but nonetheless it wasn't a light duty to carry.

Only half of them stood with him now in the bitter mist of the morning, awaiting the arrival of Howland's eldest. Rickon was sleeping in, courtesy of his mother's nuturing. Ned thought she coddled him too much. He was to be a lord of the North, afterall. He needed to be strong and withstanding, even at the age of six years. Bran, too, had disappeared at the break of dawn to climb the castle towers, much to Catelyn's disapproval. Despite scolding him many the time, Bran continued to disobey and Ned couldn't find it within himself to blame him. He had the North in him; he was bound to be wild.

Speaking of wild, Arya, per tradition, had scampered away before anyone could catch her, no doubt into the town to play with the commonfolk. Ned hadn't been foolish enough to think she'd suffer dressing up appropriately to greet their new guest.

With this being said, only Catelyn, Robb, and Sansa were at his side when three horses galloped through the castle gates. Ned didn't pay much attention to the men flanking her, only the girl herself. It was a known fact that all Reeds had dark hair, yet Morrigan Reed's was the blackest he had ever seen. It fell down her back like a river at midnight, gentle and rippling. And if her hair was a river, her face was the summer moon, warm and pale.

She was a living reminder of what he had lost. A ghost come to haunt him. A memory come to life in every sense but her eyes.

As she drew closer, Ned saw they were an ocean blue and he felt like he was again staring at his old friend. That thought and Catelyn's slight nudge to his side was enough for him to move forward and place a kiss on the young girl's hand. One of her men, a rather buff one that reminded Ned of a human boar, helped her off her horse and handed the reins to a stable hand. He didn't miss the flash of relief that crossed the girl's face to be back on level ground.

"Lady Morrigan," Ned greeted. He couldn't help but notice how nervous she looked. Her eyes kept darting around the court, from his family's faces to the grey walls that stretched up above them.

"Lord Stark," she curtsied softly. "I thank you for allowing me to stay at such short notice. My father and I are both very grateful you agreed to the arrangement."

"Ah, how is Howland? Lost in the marshes hunting swamp monsters, no doubt."

Morrigan hesitated. "He is... coping."

Ned could've hit himself. Of course the family was suffering. Jyana's illness loomed like a dark cloud above them, threatening to rupture and shower them all in grief. It would hit Howland hardest. Even before they were friends, Ned could appreciate the spark that sharpened Howland's eyes when he spoke of his wife. Back then, Ned could only have hoped for a bond similar to his friend's. But against all odds, he had gotten that with Catelyn. He couldn't imagine a life without her by his side.

"Forgive me for my insensitivity." Ned hoped he hadn't fazed the girl with his unseemly comment. She was most certainly disconcerted with the whole engagement already, and he wanted to make a good impression despite himself. For Howland's sake. "Your mother shall have our prayers."

"I am grateful. My father has spoken of the honourable Lord Stark fondly. It's a privilege to finally meet him."

In spite of her manners, he could tell Morrigan was uncomfortable with the amount of attention placed on her. Ned supposed she hadn't gotten much before, what with being secluded deep into the marshes of the Neck.

"As it is a privilege to meet his daughter." He inclined his head and she offered a meek smile. Ned wondered briefly if it wasn't a bad idea to have brought her so far North. Icy winds were no place for such a timid creature. Though he doubted the South would treat her any better.

In his letter, Howland had asked that he watch over the girl during the king's stay and if he was to travel back to the capital as his Hand. It wasn't exactly a welcome burden with everything else going on, but how could he deny his friend such a request? However, seeing her now, Morrigan needed all the help she could get if she was to survive King's Landing.

Ned gestured to the few family members that stood behind him. "This is my wife, Lady Catelyn, and my two eldests, Robb and Sansa. I apologize for the small assemblage, though I suspect a less overwhelming welcome might be preferred."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady," she curtsied.

Catelyn smiled. "I never met your father but from what I'm told, he's a very loyal man. So please, our home is yours for as long as you need."

"That means more to me than you know," Morrigan said, then turned her gaze towards Robb. The boy in question, now that Ned thought about it, was watching her with a strange look on his face. It made him want to remind his son that she was, in fact, betrothed.

Nevertheless, there was a smirk playing on the corner of his lips as Robb took her hand and kissed it. Sansa glowered at him before curtsying. No doubt she thought his antics an inappropriate first impression.

Morrigan only smiled. He wondered if that was all the girl was capable of doing. Perhaps he was being too hard on her. She clearly didn't know what to do with herself, and Ned didn't blame her. He was at a loss as to how to treat girls he didn't raise. They were a different breed entirely, and this one seemed more bewildering than most, if only for that fact that she was so simple.

"Sansa, why don't you show Morrigan around the castle," suggested Catelyn. "I know it can be quite daunting at first, but you'll get used to it."

Sansa's face lit up, no doubt she was excited to pester Morrigan with questions on her betrothal. His daughter had always been one to fantasise romance; he prayed she wasn't too disappointed when she discovered the truth.

"She seems like a nice girl," said Catelyn, watching them as they walked away. "Rather quiet. Though I suppose that's a relief after having to deal with a family of wildlings."

"Arya is the only wild one. The others just humour her."

"If you think that, then you haven't seen Rickon on bath day."

Ned chuckled. "They're of the north, what did we expect?"

"Well, I just hope they behave themselves in the presence of our new guest. Not to mention the king. Although I can't say frightening off Robert would be an entirely bad idea."

He knew she wasn't impressed by the king's sudden visit to Winterfell, mainly since Robert didn't go anywhere without a purpose. And Ned was certain that riding up for a friendly reunion wasn't it, no matter how much he wanted to believe it.

"You know how I feel about the matter," sighed Ned. "If the gods are on our side then we have nothing to worry about, and if not, then what can we do? He's the king. His word is our command."

Catelyn frowned. "Is it really worth leaving your family for? Leaving your home?"

"Nothing's set in stone," he reminded her. "And if nothing else, at least I'll be able to watch over the girl. Lord knows she'll need someone to trust in King's Landing, especially when she's surrounded with Lannisters."

"A regretful arrangement," she admitted. "Who's ever heard of pairing a lion and a lizard? It's bound to end in misery."

He couldn't say he disagreed. Howland must've been thoroughly trapped into agreeing to this betrothal — he hated the South just as much as Ned did. There was no way he would've let go of his daughter willingly.

"At least she's to be with Kevan's heir. I've heard he's a far stretch better than the crown prince, despite having inherited the Lannister snobbery."

He watched as his wife raised an eyebrow, a smile twitching on her lips.

"And since when did the great Eddard Stark concern himself with foreign hearsay?"

Rumours about every man and woman in the king's court had drifted through the castle's halls ever since Robert had announced his approaching arrival. It was difficult not to pay attention, particularly because those people would soon be filling a seat at his table.

"I'm sure you've heard the mutterings yourself, my lady. Nobody has been concentrated on keeping it quiet."

"Of course I have." Catelyn's smile faded. "Sansa's been fretting over it without rest, and all Arya can talk about is the Imp, Lord Tyrion. Its only made me dread the encounter more. They're dangerous people, Ned. I don't want them poisoning our children."

"They're not here for long. What damage can they really cause? My concerns lie with Morrigan. Her betrothed and his father are travelling with the rest of the court, and no doubt I'll have Robert haunting my every move, so I'll need you to look out for her. Or at least get Robb to. He certainly seems taken with the girl."

"Can you blame him? There's not many decent-looking girls in these parts."

It was true. The North was not made for the frail and pretty; those things belonged in Highgarden.

Or as it appeared, Greywater Watch.


	3. A Secret Passage

Hi, y'all. Sorry this is a little late, but only by like five days so who's counting?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of George R.R. Martin's or HBO's works.

— CHAPTER THREE —  
A Secret Passage

**MORRIGAN**

If Morrigan had thought it cold in the Neck, that was nothing compared to Winterfell.

Fur coats and woollen dresses were the established clothes of the castle, and as she soon found, much of what she had brought was quite inadequate. Even her night gown left her exposed to the harsh winds and frosty snowfalls. Though it was rather hard not to be when only thin glass windows stood in the way of her entire bed chambers being pelted with ice. If this was summer, Morrigan hated to think what the North's capital was like in winter.

However, despite the shivers that refused to abandon her, there was beauty found in the snow. The snow that fell in the marshes was both rare and diluted with rain and muck, but here it was a perfect white that danced beneath the clouds and upon the stormy winds. Morrigan often found herself admiring it. Out here in the middle of nowhere, if one simply sat and paid heed to what was falling around them, days could pass by in the blink of an eye.

When Morrigan first arrived, Sansa had offered to show her to the godswood, but seeing as that involved more riding, she politely declined. Nevertheless, she came to regret that decision as she looked into the distance now. Her chambers was one of the highest in the Great Keep and had a clear view, on one of the less foggy days, to the forest grove where trees of frosted green leaves spiralled out from a centre weirwood. It was not unlike the one at Greywater Watch, the colours just as bold, if not brighter against the pale canvas.

In a place so different to the Neck, Morrigan yearned for any familiar comfort she could find. The godswood, she'd come to realize, was useless at fufilling her prayers, but it did provide a closeness to her family that she was severely missing. She'd written to them as soon as she was able. There wasn't much to include, other than her introduction to Lord Stark.

Her father's friend seemed a pleasant enough man, if not a wee awkward. She supposed it was a bit unsettling to have her arrival so close to the king's, especially since he was tasked with looking out for her. Morrigan didn't want to trouble him, but then again, didn't want to be alone in this foreign place during such an ordeal. _Girls do this all the time_, she liked to remind herself. Still, it unnerved her to no ends. The South was as different to the North as Westeros was to Essos.

However, she wasn't in the South yet.

Winterfell, in spite of being dissimilar to Greywater Watch, was still home. At least on the larger scale. She forced herself to make the most of it while she could.

That was why as soon as she had broken her fast, Morrigan found herself walking towards the stables even as her every bone still ached after the long ride North. There was only one stable hand that she could see — a chubby boy not any older than twenty — who was busy stroking down the flank of a dapple grey. Morrigan watched them for a moment without speaking. The boy didn't mutter to the horse like she'd seen Merek do, but somehow the two beings seemed connected. They didn't need languages that neither understood to create a bond. They spoke through their actions; the boy's gentle hands, and the horse's relaxed jaw and curled lower lip. They were content in the silence that she was about to interrupt.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but I don't suppose you could help me ready a horse? I'm disastrous at doing so myself. Somehow I always muddle up the bridle buckles. A beginner's mistake, I'm sure."

The boy turned to her, straightening his back. Morrigan was suddenly aware of how truly huge he was; at least a foot taller than any other man in Winterfell.

"Hodor," he mumbled, placing down the brush and waddling up to her. "Hodor?"

"Is that your name? Mine is Morrigan." She held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

He gave a toothy grin and instead of kissing it, gave her hand a hearty shake. "Hodor!"

She chuckled. "Yes, I know. You've told me."

Morrigan wandered over to the dapple grey and reached out hesitantly to touch his muzzle. Before she could, Hodor grabbed her hand and re-positioned it at the horse's neck and then gave her an encouraging nod. She had never found the creatures to be of renowned beauty, but this one shone with regalia and magnificence, so much that she felt low-born in his presence. The horse backed away after a few seconds, clearly tired of being pet, but Morrigan didn't mind. She was not a horse-whisperer like Hodor.

"Does he have a name?" she asked.

Hodor nodded but did not say anything further.

"Dusân."

Morrigan whirled around to see Robb leaning against a stable post, his hair tousled in knots and face flushed. No doubt he had come from a training session with Jon Snow, Lord Stark's bastard. Still, a smirk played on his lips. It seemed it had not stopped doing so since the first time they'd met.

"Pardon me, my lord, I did not hear you enter."

"Please, call me Robb." He waved a dismissive hand and walked forward. "Don't mind Hodor — he's a good fellow but doesn't utter much else than his name."

Morrigan frowned. "Why's that?"

The boy was quiet, there was no disputing that, but he seemed a far stretch from a simpleton. One only needed to observe how he acted around the horses to know that. Either way, she felt guilty for talking about Hodor like he wasn't there.

"No one knows for sure. Old Nan told me it was the result of a seizure when he was young, but still that doesn't really explain his entire loss of vocabulary."

"I see." Her eyes flitted back to the dapple grey. "And the horse? You said his name was Dusân?"

Robb gave Dusân an affectionate scratch behind his ears. Although Morrigan hadn't known Robb Stark long, she had still come to realize that he didn't often show people the softer side of himself. At meals he either remained silent or conversed with his father, and at any other time he was training. Despite this, there was a tenderness in his eyes when he looked at Dusân. It reminded her of how her father might've once looked at Lord Stark.

"He's my ride and a trusty companion. Sometimes I feel he understands me better than most humans do. I've found people like the sound of their own voices far too much. All they do is spout nonsense. Horses, on the other hand, have no choice but to listen."

Morrigan chuckled. "You should try telling that to the horse I rode here with. No matter how many times I pulled on the reins, she refused to come to a halt. I'm afraid Alfered and Merek must've gotten very frustrated with chasing after me every time we stopped for camp."

He shook his head, smiling. "I doubt you could frustrate anyone, my lady."

"Mor," she corrected. If she was not to address him with propriety then she could only return the courtesy. "And believe me, when you're tasked with accompanying a girl who cannot ride to save her life all the way to Winterfell, you're bound to get at least slightly exasperated."

"Be that as it may, what is a girl who cannot ride doing in a stable full of horses?"

Morrigan flushed; she'd almost forgotten her purpose of being there. Looking back, it now seemed like a folly idea. The wind outside was beginning to pick up, and she wasn't stupid enough to think she'd be able to stay on if it got much worse. She struggled as it was.

"I was hoping to somehow make my way to the godswood."

Robb raised an eyebrow but he didn't mock her. "You worship the old gods then, I gather?"

"Hardly." She bit her lip. "I suppose I've just been feeling lonely lately. Your family is wonderful, but I miss my own. The godswood helps me remember them, as pathetic as that sounds."

She hoped Robb didn't think her weak, not being able to last a few days without her family, because it was about more than that. It was about not being able to last without them forever. Besides, she found herself caring about what Robb thought of her, strangely enough.

"You don't sound pathetic, Mor. In fact, I'll give you company there, if you like. I understand if you'd prefer to be alone..."

"No, a little help getting there without making an absolute fool of myself would be much appreciated."

Robb grinned, his face half-shadowed by the dim stable light. "Great, because honestly I need some peace and quiet as well. Sansa's hairbrush has been stolen again and I think everyone can guess who the culprit is. I don't think my ears will ever fully recover from her screeching."

Hodor, despite not being able to talk much himself, was still more than capable of understanding what the people around him were saying. He readied Dusân for riding quicker than Morrigan could've ever dreamt of doing and handed the reins to Robb to lead him outside.

She smiled her thanks at Hodor before accepting Robb's hand as he pulled her onto the horse behind him. Her thick woollen coat trailed over Dusân's back, the two greys seeming to merge together.

"Hey, you don't mind if Grey Wind comes with us, do you? He may look frightening, but even Dusân has come to enjoy his presence."

Morrigan couldn't deny the shock she felt when she'd first encountered the six direwolves that roamed the Keep, unchecked. Her initial reaction was to scream, but then she remembered wolves could sense fear and would only become more hostile. Fortunately, Jon Snow had arrived before she was ripped to shreds, despite his insistence that Ghost was well-trained and wouldn't do such a thing. Ever since, she had been extremely wary around the animals but couldn't argue that, so far, Jon's statement had held true.

Still, the idea of having Grey Wind along, the eldest and fiercest of the litter, thoroughly unnerved her. Nevertheless, she smiled and nodded her head. However, after seeing how Robb's eyes lit up after she said yes, Morrigan couldn't bring herself to regret the decision.

* * *

**ARYA**

Sansa was the biggest twat she had ever met.

Whenever Arya messed up, her sister would make a huge deal about it to their mother, ranting on about decorum and the lady-like behaviour that Arya was severely lacking in. Yet whenever Sansa would lose her temper and scream her head off it was deemed an "appropriate response". It was unfair and clearly biased towards her sister. Everyone loved Winterfell's young lady with her pretty face and stupid manners.

Arya didn't hate her but she sure didn't make loving her easy. Sometimes, on the days when she wasn't forced to sew or study, she'd invite Sansa to go riding with her. Of course her sister would always turn her nose up at the request, stating that real ladies don't go on silly goose chases through the forest. Arya's good mood would vanish in an instant and she'd no doubt make some, perhaps irrelevant, but true all the same, remark on Sansa's ridiculous and uptight notions.

She knew her mother, as well as Septa Mordane, were well and truly fed up by their feud, but it wasn't Arya's doing. Her sister was the one who started the fighting most of the time, and who was she to sit back without retaliating? It was only right to do so. Only _fair._

Still, more often than not, it got her into unpleasant situations. Sansa, as usual, had gotten away without even a talking to, and Arya was stuck in yet another punishment. It wasn't even her fault, really. Sansa shouldn't have mocked her stitches in front of half the girls in the court. Not that she cared about what prissy girls like them thought, but even so, it frustrated her and her fingers itched for retribution. It was her sister's mistake for leaving her prized hair brush out in the open for the taking.

Naturally, Septa Mordane came storming up to her, Sansa glowering by her side, demanding that Arya return the brush immediately. She'd tried to act innocent but as soon as her mother got involved, she knew it was pointless. After reluctantly returning her sister's belongings, Arya was promptly sent to her bed chambers, not to come out until Septa Mordane allowed so. Knowing the old hag, she'd never see daylight again.

Arya glanced at the window. The clouds had cleared enough for the sky to become a warm blue, fading into orange by the second. Oddly enough, the air had lightened, more a breeze now than a harsh wind. Dusk was soon approaching, meaning she'd been locked up in here for roughly four hours. It wasn't the longest time she had to stay for a punishment. Once, after cutting off a large segment of Sansa's hair with a dagger she'd nicked from the maester-at-arms, Septa Mordane had confined her to her bed chambers for almost an entire two days. She had to have her meals pushed to her through a hand-crafted slot in the door.

Arya hated every moment of it. She wasn't able to go riding or watch her brothers fight or do any of the things she would usually do. At least she didn't have to do any needlework either. But she was bored then, and she was most definitely bored now.

And she was hungry.

Her stomach growled and thoughts of crisp potatoes and lemon cakes tempted her mind. By the look of it, she wasn't getting any dinner.

Once again Arya was reminded at how unfair the whole situation was. No one understood her — no one even tried to, except for her brothers. But that was different. They weren't forced to sit inside for hours and pick away at a stupid piece of linen. They got to learn swordplay and battle strategy, and were commended for it. Arya tried to imagine the septa's face if she was caught doing the same thing, and, if it weren't for the sullen mood she was in, she might've laughed.

A chest full of her failed attempts at dresses caught her eye from across the room. Despite Arya's loathing for it, her mother had insisted that she keep all of her designs on hand, so if inspiration ever struck, she wouldn't have to travel far to find them. Arya couldn't help but scoff at the idea of her sewing out of pure choice. Did her mother know her at all?

Without thinking, she hopped off her bed and shoved the chest open. Her hands snatched the first lump of fabric she could find and dug her nails in, ripping it apart with an angry cry. She continued to do so until the chest was empty and her floor was littered with mutilated material.

Arya knew that in creating such a mess she had most likely gained another day onto her punishment, but honestly she didn't give a rat's arse. If everyone in the court was going to treat her like some little monster, she was going to give them what they wanted.

She hated Septa Mordane, she hated Sansa, and sometimes, she even hated her mother.

Frustration boiled up inside of her and she gave the chest a vicious kick, stubbing her toe in the process. The box slammed into the wall with such a thud that Arya feared she'd made a hole. But instead the wall groaned and a three-sided square crack formed in the stone. Curiosity pumped through her veins, washing away all the anger. She gave a tentative step forward and pushed on the wall where the crack had formed. It didn't budge at first, and it took her shoving half her body into it for the doorway to open.

The tunnel was dark and dusted in cobwebs, but Arya could just make out the beginnings of a staircase leading downwards. She scampered out to grab a candle holder from her nightstand and shut the stone door behind her. Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do, seeing as it might only open from one way, but she couldn't have the septa peaking in and noticing where she'd gone. Rather she thought she'd jumped from the window. Arya smiled. That was sure to give her a fright.

The candle's flame barely lit up three steps in front of her, forcing Arya to be especially observant of her surroundings. The steps continued downwards and so did she. Each corner she turned, Arya expected it to be the last, but was only met with another tunnel. It must've been an hour when the stairs started to rise upwards. At this point, Arya didn't doubt that she had simply gone a full circle around the entire castle. Yet the doorway she finally arrived at was different in the ways that it was actually a wooden hatch.

Arya only hesitated slightly before fumbling with the latch and swinging it open.

Aisles upon aisles of dusty books greeted her, along with a pungent stench of mildew. She knew the place all too well, having been forced to waste hours with Maester Luwin, pouring over volumes older than Bran the Builder himself.

She was about to head back to her chambers in disappointment when she noticed a girl with raven black waves sitting just below her. Arya hadn't spoken much to Lady Morrigan Reed of Greywater Watch during her stay so far. She seemed to be like all the other ladies in the court — polite, pretty, and in love with her brother. Yet Arya couldn't say she'd spotted many ladies slumped on the floor of a musty library, let alone out of choice.

Deciding to investigate further, and quite frankly having nothing better to do, Arya checked if the coast was clear before climbing down.

Arya had scared a cat once by jumping out from behind a corner and shouting. The cat's tail had bushed and eyes went as wide as saucers before sprinting away.

That's what Lady Morrigan looked like now, minus the bushy tail.

"Lord, you frightened me." Lady Morrigan held a hand to her chest, clearly startled. "Where on earth did you come from?"

Arya smirked and shrugged. "A secret passageway."

"How mysterious," she said, her lips twitching upwards. "I thought those only were real in myths and legends."

"Like the one you're reading?"

Lady Morrigan closed the book but kept a finger slid between the pages to mark her place. "I'm afraid mine is more of the factual type."

"You mean the boring type."

"I suppose it would seem like that to some. Tell me, my lady, have you ever read one? Now I don't mean study it, but truly immerse yourself into one." Her face must've been answer enough for Lady Morrigan didn't wait long before continuing. "Then you have not experienced the real magic of the past. Or the horror. Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I think you'd be one to enjoy those parts more."

She flushed; was she really so easy to read?

"There's something captivating about history. You experience everything as if you are actually there. From rousing duels and tourneys to treacherous battles and assassinations." She paused. "Have you ever felt like you wanted to be more than what you are?"

Arya had felt like that. More often than not. Usually when watching her brothers fight or when her father told stories from his childhood. She craved to turn her back on society's expectations and find her own path — one that presumably didn't involve sewing.

She nodded.

"Well, that need is fulfilled every time I open these pages. An escape, if you will, and an insight into a world that existed not long before the one we live in now."

"I wish I could escape."

Lady Morrigan frowned, perhaps concerned, but then a look of understanding replaced it. "I do too sometimes. I know you Starks love your sense of honour and duty, but every now and again I wonder whether it's worth giving up your happiness for."

"...So you think everyone should be able to choose who they want to be, instead of it being forced upon them?"

Arya knew most women at court would look down at the idea of forsaking her family's teachings, but Lady Morrigan seemed to feel just as trapped as her. Despite all her good manners, she appeared to sympathize more with Arya than, for instance, someone like Septa Mordane.

"I don't know if it matters what I think. But you're young, my lady. And twice as wilful as any crannogman. I'm certain your future will include much more than feasts and frilly dresses."

"I hope so," she grimaced, sliding down the wall so she was sitting next to her. "And call me Arya. I'm no lady and I don't ever plan to be."

Lady Morrigan smiled at that. "Then it's only fair you call me Mor."

"You know," she started, folding her knees up to her chest. A most unladylike position but Morrigan didn't seem to mind. "I've never met a girl who isn't completely obsessed with boring things like their appearance and embroidery. Though granted, books aren't that much better."

"There was hardly any point sewing in the marshes, and once my mother fell ill there wasn't anyone to teach it. Who knows, I might enjoy it if I tried."

Arya made a face, her eyebrows scrunching up and tongue poking out. "Ugh, you better not. Then you would've truly crossed the line of no return."

"Don't say that, or I'll have no one else to frighten me by popping out of ceilings."

She was about to make some retort when her stomach let out an unearthly noise, and she suddenly remembered her lack of food.

"My lord, have you eaten at all this past week?" teased Morrigan.

A blush tinted her cheeks and she nibbled at the inside of her cheek. "Well... I'm not actually supposed to be here. Septa Mordane grounded me to my room without supper. In fact, at this rate, I doubt I'll even be allowed much breakfast. Especially if they catch me here."

"Don't worry, as I'm sure you've noticed, the library isn't exactly a popular congregation spot. Besides, I haven't yet had dinner myself. I suppose when I go down to the kitchens I can save you some bread, perhaps even a slice of ham."

Arya's eyes widened and a grin grew on her features. "Really? You'd do that?"

"I mean, as long as you promise not to steal Sansa's hairbrush again, I don't see any problem in quenching your appetite, if only a little."

"Wait," she raised a brow. "How did you know what I did?"

Morrigan tapped a finger to her nose, knowingly. "The walls have ears, and they were unmistakably deafened by your sister's screams."

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from down the hall and Arya stiffened.

"It must be Maester Luwin," she muttered. "He's probably looking for me. You should go — I'd hate for you to get into even more trouble on my account. No doubt your mother wouldn't be pleased with me either. Listen, I'll bring the food back here and slot it through the hatch. It'll be too risky taking it to your room, so its the best I can do."

"Thank you, Mor," she gave a tentative smile. It wasn't often Arya used her manners, but she figured this time it was called for.

She was about to leave when Morrigan's hand stopped her.

"Here." She handed her a green leather-bound book with the title, _The Iron City of Tanaria_, threaded in golden letters. "Read it. I promise you won't regret it."

She hesitated, not liking the idea, but what else was she going to do with her time? Besides, she owed it to Morrigan for not snitching.

Slowly nodding her head, she accepted the book and pulled herself back up through the hatch.

* * *

**NED**

He found the Reed girl curled up in the middle of the library floor.

Her hair splayed out onto the stone, like onyx melted onto lead, and her pale fingers clung loosely to the cracks in the floor. It was quite a surprise finding a lady sprawled out in such a fashion, not to mention surrounded by books. Maester Luwin must've shared his thoughts because he'd come doddering out of the room in search of the first person who could deal with the young girl. Of course, Ned would've preferred him to bump into someone more suitable like Septa Mordane, but he supposed seeing as he was now her temporary guardian, he couldn't exactly refuse the maester.

Ned hadn't seen much of Morrigan in the past few days. He found she favoured isolation over socialisation with the other women of court. If she wasn't in her chambers, she was in the library, or out riding with Robb. His nose crinkled slightly at the concept of his eldest and Howland's daughter becoming more fond of each other than what was hoped for.

Robb led his life at emotion's command. If his feelings pointed him one way, in that direction he would undoubtedly go. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Ned tried to reason, as long as he learned to listen to his head sometimes too.

However, that didn't seem to be the case with Morrigan. Despite if it was only a simple lust-orientated attraction, the girl was soon to be married. Ned grimaced to think of how the Lannisters would react if they found out his son had tainted her virtue. With this thought in mind, he prayed that Robb controlled himself and his needs.

Ned's worries only grew as he looked down upon the girl. Howland had entrusted him with protecting her, but how was he supposed to do that when the South was swarming with snakes, and he doubted Morrigan was able to defend herself against a mouse.

A wave of stale air befouled his nostrils and he wondered what on earth drew her to this place. It was one thing spending hours in his study, but the library, courtesy of countless decades of aging, seemed to make him bleary eyed after a mere minute. How the girl fared, he had no idea.

Sighing, Ned bent down and gave her shoulder a light shake. She stirred but did not wake. Lords, he already felt uncomfortable in the situation. He was clearly not meant for such duties.

Ned was about to give up and escape back to his chambers, hopefully finding the septa and sending her after the girl when her eyelids fluttered open.

Icy blue orbs stared up at him, darting in confusion.

"My lord?" her voice came, croaky and soft.

"You fell asleep," informed Ned. "Maester Luwin found you here in the library — quite a shock I suppose, seeing as no one but him usually steps a foot inside."

Morrigan sat up, combing a hand through her tangles. She was biting her lip, a rosy flush darkening her cheeks.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with this," she muttered. "I'm not usually so unkempt. Well, I suppose I am seeing as I'm of the marshes, but still, I apologize that you got involved."

Ned managed a small smile at her ramblings. "You merely fell asleep, my lady. There's hardly anything to apologize for."

"Oh, well I do hope I haven't troubled you too much."

He offered her his hand and she got to her feet. She smiled at him, and in the darkness, when only a candle glowed upon their features, Ned could've sworn he saw a ghost right before him. Only her blue eyes stood in the way of him falling deep into the past. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.

"Would you like an escort to your chambers?" asked Ned, willing she'd decline his request. It wasn't that he disliked the girl, but more that he didn't know how to act or how to feel around her.

"Actually that would be much appreciated," said Morrigan. "As pitying as it is to admit, I can't say I'm overly fond of the dark."

"Of course."

Ned led the girl from the library, their footsteps echoing in the silent halls. The sky outside was a frosted navy, thickened with clouds and starless — a typical northern night. He would miss these if he went South. The dirt and sunlight was no match for the snow and wind.

He watched Morrigan's nimble steps, her eyes flickering to every corner, as if expecting a monster to suddenly appear. But the only creatures that could possibly be terrifying here were the direwolves. However, the South was a different story. There, she'd be right to be cautious. Monsters lurked in the shadows, confined in the skins of men.

"Lord Stark," her voice broke him from his thoughts. "Were you perhaps scared the first time you went South?"

Ned faltered; he wasn't expecting such a question from her. Even so, blurred images of dripping scarlet swords and lifeless bodies appeared in his mind's eye.

"Truth be told, young one, I don't think I was." He paused and glanced at the girl. Her lips were pursed, thoughtful, and he could tell she was agitated. "However, I do still remember the nerves. Nasty little things they were, gnawing at my bones and my heart until I could barely sit still."

"But if you were not frightened, then what was the cause of the nerves?"

Ned's mouth twitched. "Excitement. Those were different times, and battle was all a young man like me craved. Back then, honour wasn't doing what's right, it was the thrill of the fight and the sweetness of victory."

"I can't say I feel the same, my lord," Morrigan fiddled with her hands. "I know my duty. I know I must bring honour to my family. But the South seems so foreign. Mother always used to say politics and death were the language of the capital, and that isn't exactly a language I can speak."

Jyana wasn't wrong.

From what Ned knew, the game all southern highborns played made them a completely different breed to the northerners.

"The South knows not of honour," he warned. "They do not play by the same rules as you and I. They are cheaters and liars and tricksters. You'll do well not to trust them."

"And what of the king?" Her eyebrows scrunched as she tried to understand. "Should I trust him?"

For once, Ned wasn't actually sure of the answer.

"Robert is... a good man. He sometimes loses his head, courtesy of being born with a brutal temper. But he doesn't much care for riddles. The king is who he is, and doesn't pretend to be anything else."

"Isn't that all any of us can do? Be true to ourselves and hope that it's enough."

He frowned. "If you're talking about pleasing Lancel Lannister, you needn't worry. He's a pompous little boy who'll count his blessings to have you on his arm. He may be a prat, but I will not lie to you, there are far worse men to have as your husband."

"I know," sighed Morrigan as they reached her door. "I'm grateful, I truly am. I suppose it's just those pesky little nerves."

Ned released her from his grasp, wondering whether he had judged her too soon. She may be timid and more gentle than he could've imagined a crannogman being, but she did seem to be a fast learner. As long as she kept quiet, only spouting those pretty words when she needed to, Ned thought that Morrigan Reed could perhaps survive King's Landing yet.


End file.
